


A Nice Skirt, With Handgun To Match

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond breaks into Q's flat again, Genderqueer Q, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: There's more to Q than Bond's seen at the office; he'd appreciate the knowledge a little more if there wasn't a gun being pointed at him, but he'll take what he can get





	A Nice Skirt, With Handgun To Match

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the genderqueerness is more implied than outright stated, but I do like to headcanon Q as genderfluid, so I tagged it that way anyway. Bit of an older one, but more recent than some of the things I've posted
> 
> Originally posted here as part of a collection, which I've deleted; if you left kudos or a comment for this fic there, please know that I've saved them to look upon and cherish (also, thank you!)

In retrospect, Bond supposed that just because he had managed (finally) to disable Q’s security system, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t meet further resistance inside the flat.

Careless of him, certainly, but he hadn’t been in the mindset of a mission, not just yet – and really, it was frightfully easy to dismiss the idea of Q having any talents beyond the digital and mechanical. Bond’s mistake was underscored by the click of a safety being released. The gun was honestly a surprise.

The skirt even more so.

Q stood at the end of the hall, cutting a rather fine figure in a dark blue yoke waist skirt and a white button-down shirt, stocking feet held apart in a perfect firing stance with a very nice Beretta aimed unwaveringly at Bond’s head.

“Good afternoon, Quartermaster.”

The gun remained firmly pointed. “Bond.” Q’s voice was as level as his aim and fairly screamed displeasure, “You are aware it is my day off.”

“A little less formal, then? Just Q today?” Bond offered.

He didn’t raise his hands, nor anything quite so obvious, but he kept them where Q could easily see them. Bond was armed—of course he was armed—but he had no intention of  _drawing_  his weapon, and he was sure Q would realize that. Probably.

After a long moment, Q reengaged the safety and dropped the gun to his side, lips thinned in distinct upset. For his part, Bond took another moment to simply appreciate Q’s new (different, at the very least) look. The things the skirt did to his waist were simply  _unfair_. When Bond’s thorough once-over reached the stiff set of Q’s shoulders and the defiant set of his features, just daring Bond to make a comment, the agent grinned. “You know, I think I like this better than your usual outfits.”

Eyes narrowed, Q stared down the hall at Bond; since making quartermaster, the man had carefully honed the ability to tell when field agents were completely bullshitting him. Even the double-0’s had a lower success rate in lying to Q than to others (lower tier field agents joked that in order to become a double-0 you had to be able to fool the quartermaster; they may or may not have made a sort of game out of it – and Bond may or may not have held the record for most successful lies told). At last, Q made an irritated sort of ‘tsk’ noise and stalked down the hall. “What do you want, Bond?” He demanded as he shoved past the agent to rearm the security system.

Bond continued favoring Q with a fond grin, which appeared to do absolutely nothing to placate him. “I can’t pay you a compliment without an ulterior motive?”

“You can compliment me all you want. You can’t  _break into my bloody flat_ without an ulterior motive.” Q snapped, turning back down the hall without waiting for an answer.

Following along behind him, Bond found himself in a cluttered sort of home office. Bookshelves lined one wall, every last one packed to bursting with texts, notebooks, papers, and novels. A long table was set against the opposing wall, laden with computer components and gadgets in various states of assembly and even more books and paper. A three-monitor computer setup took up the wall between the two, sitting upon a desk in which Q was currently locking his gun away. Bond took note of the low-heeled yellow pumps lying discarded by the wheels of an absurdly comfortable-looking office chair.

“All dressed up with somewhere to be, Q?”

Q gave Bond another fierce glare. “What do you  _want_ , Bond?”

And, oh, there were all  _sorts_  of fun answers to that question, but there were, unfortunately, other things to deal with.

“I need a favor.”

Q dropped into his chair. “Of course you fucking do.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Also posted on Tumblr!](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/175083114008/another-old-piece-with-gender-nonconforming-q)


End file.
